


Brighter Than Christmas Lights

by fishingboatblues



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Frottage, Incest, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingboatblues/pseuds/fishingboatblues
Summary: Their eyes meet and lock when Stan stops just short of resting his forehead against Ford’s, his hand coming up to grip at Ford’s wrist. “Hey, hey. Don’t clam up on me there, Sixer.” He starts, voice surprisingly soft and his skin unexpectedly warm as his thumb rubs absentmindedly against Ford’s skin. “Whatever you’ve got to say ya know I’m here, right? I know I’m reckless and stupid sometimes and I don’t always listen, but I’m listenin’ right now.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xuis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xuis/gifts).



> Written for the Stancest Discord server's Secret Santa gift exchange! Written for the cool [GrunkleTrashcan! ](http://grunkletrashcan.tumblr.com/) I hope you like it, my dear!

Stanford Pines is not what one would call a normal young man, in neither personality nor his interests, least of all his desires. For as long as he can remember he has been…infatuated with his brother. It began as childish affection, the innocent sensation of butterflies fluttering inside of his stomach as he realised his feelings for Stan, as his love for his brother changed from familial to romantic.

Since then his feelings have grown, blossomed and rooted themselves inside his chest like the roots of a mighty oak tree, unmovable and intimidating beyond all belief as they loom over him like branches out stretched and solid. He’s tried devoting himself to science, but such a thing is hard when one spends numerous hours together with the object of their desires. It’s even harder when Stan still insists on sailing around the world alone together, away from the expectations and the ridicule from their hometown.

It’s hard to resist someone when they themselves try with all their might to draw themselves closer to you, when they see no future without your continued presence. It’s hard for Ford to hold himself back when Stan’s love for him is as clear to see as the sun in the sky, although the type and severity of love has always been a matter of confusion. He knows, he’s _sure,_ Stan loves him as a brother does…and not anything salacious; it would be ridiculous and almost treasonous against the bond that they _do_ have to consider, to _believe_ , anything else.

Unfortunately, as much as he would wish it, he is not immune to being moved by Stan’s presence, to being weak at the sight of him. There is only so much control a man can have and a teen even less so, something of which his body often likes to remind him of at the most in opportune times. Those feelings and his attraction towards his twin bother him most when he finds himself tending to his brother’s wounds after yet another altercation with Crampelter.

Luckily for the both of them their parents had left on a brief trip to their aunt’s house in Philadelphia to drop off Christmas presents, giving the two of them more than enough time to patch Stan up.

“Stop squirming, Stanley.” He tells his twin, voice put upon as he grabs the iodine bottle from where it rests on the nightstand. He places a piece of cloth to the neck and stuffs it inside before turning the bottle upside down, his brother hisses and jerks his head away a little as Ford presses the iodine soaked rag onto a cut on his right cheek.

“It doesn’t sting that much.” He continues with a roll of his eyes as he tries to steady his own heat beat, being this close to Stan is hard. He can practically smell his brother’s sweat, the scent of his earthy cologne.

Using the Stan’s jaw as leverage he tilts Stan’s head so he can clean the wound more easily. Stan hisses, winces again and glares at his brother. “Jesus, Sixer could ya been any rougher, huh? I know you’re angry with me, but ya don’t gotta brutalize me in the process.”

Ford shakes his head in fond exasperation as he inspects the wounds covering his brother, there are cuts all over his face which is unfortunate but not unexpected; Crampelter had always taken a perverse pleasure in bruising Stan’s face. He can understand why though; Stan is far too attractive to leave unscathed in such a fashion.

“If I wanted to brutalize you I think there are more direct and effective ways of doing so, Stan.” He tells Stan with a sigh before griping Stan’s jaw more firmly. He tries to calm the voice in the back of his head that’s telling him just how close he is to his brother, just how easy it would be to lean in and kiss him. “Besides, I’m not angry…per-se.”

This time Stan rolls his eyes and Ford feels his breath waft against his face; he smells like toffee peanuts and the hint of something earthy, something that smell suspicious like cigarette smoke; that’s something they’re going to have to talk about too.

“Oh, come on, Sixer! I know you’re pissed I got into it with Crampelter.” Stan replied. "Hut ya know I couldn’t just let him get away with saying all that shit about you, nobody, and I mean _nobody_ , gets away with callin’ my brother a freak.”

Part of Ford feels elated that his brother would defend him so staunchly, that Stan would love him enough to put Ford’s reputation before his own health and safety. But another part of him is decidedly annoyed, frustrated that Stan would see Ford’s battles as his; Ford is not some maiden in need of rescuing. He can fight his own battles if need be but his way of rebellion is far different in comparison to Stan’s.

Stan’s jaw feels tempting inside of his grasp, a tease that he finds himself desperately wanting to give in to, a temptation it takes all his willpower to resist. Despite himself all he wants to do is to guide Stan’s mouth onto his, all he wants to do is kiss him. All he wants to do is show him the affection bubbling away inside of his chest.

He catches himself looking at his brother’s lips and he shakes his head to rid himself of thoughts, he hopes above all else that Stan didn’t catch his wandering gaze.

 “I don’t need you to defend me.” He says, eyes meeting Stan’s as he tries to convey just how serious he is about this. He almost gulps when his brother meets his eyes, his brother always did have a gaze akin to that of Medusa, freezing him in place and turning him to stone at the most awkward of times.

“Yes, what they say bothers me. It hurts being ostracized and bullied by our peers but, but…I’d much rather…well I’d much rather-” He cuts himself off, feeling his words are too sappy, too heartfelt and he doesn’t know if he can express them without giving in to feelings and desires better left unspoken and unknown to his brother.

Stan moves forward, his chin butting against Ford’s palm like a challenge, like a _dare_. It’s almost as if he’s leaning into Ford’s touch, as if he’s enjoying the contact between them but Ford can’t imagine that, can’t imagine anyone willingly sloping into his touch…into his hands.

Ford’s heart skips a beat when he realises Stan’s close enough that Ford can see the shaved hair dotting his brother’s face and he can’t help but imagine his stubble brushing against Ford’s face as they kiss. He can’t help but imagine the scratch and itch of it despite knowing Stan’s far too clean shaven for Ford to actually _feel_ anything of that nature.

He almost curses underneath his breath when he realises that he can even see the slight flecks of gold in Stan’s eyes, resting amongst the rest of the brown that he knows his eyes also possess. Their eyes meet and lock when Stan stops just short of resting his forehead against Ford’s, his hand coming up to grip at Ford’s wrist.

“Hey, hey. Don’t clam up on me there, Sixer.” He starts, voice surprisingly soft and his skin unexpectedly warm as his thumb rubs absentmindedly against Ford’s skin. “Whatever you’ve got to say ya know I’m here, right? I know I’m reckless and stupid sometimes and I don’t always listen, but I’m listenin’ right now.”

Ford sighs and knows that there’s no resisting his brother, no resisting the pull he has towards him. It’s sadly the most inconvenient type of gravity, subject only to Ford and his own troublesome emotions. Frankly he imagines Newton would be ashamed to know that his contributions to science were being used to internally and metaphorically explain Ford’s incestuous longings, had it been Darwin however...

 He coughs under his breath and tries to prevent the blush quickly turning his skin a tender pink. “Well, I, ah.” He begins and bites his lip, it’s hard not be self-conscious when it comes to his feelings even those of a platonic nature; it’s just not the way of things, it’s just not something their father particularly approves of.

Besides emotions are even harder for him, as a man of science they should hold no sway over him, no place within his heart. Sadly, he is not an island, nor would ever wish to be; he can’t imagine being completely alone, he can’t imagine a life without his brother and yes, sometimes that is suffocating, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’d much rather if you didn’t get into fights on my behalf. I want you to be safe, Stanley.” He finds himself drawn to the soft skin of Stan’s mouth, to the small ‘o’ forming as a result of the quirk in his brother’s lips. He finds himself staring at the slight cut caked in blood at the corner. His eyes flick upwards. “I care about you too much to see you like this, your health is more important than what they think about me.”

Stan’s eyes widen and Ford can feel himself beginning to sweat when a smirk spreads across those damnable lips. “So...what you’re sayin’ Sixer is that _you love me_.” Stan remarks with a grin big enough to swallow Ford’s shaky sense of control whole. His tone is light and playful, despite how embarrassed Ford feels he appreciates his brother’s good mood.

Ford scratches awkwardly at the side of his head, finger rubbing at the temple before running through his hair, his nerves fraying at the edges. Prolonged proximity, of this nature, to Stan is not helping Ford calm his racing heart.

Stan continues to grin at him, mischievous but somehow soft all at once and Ford feels Stan’s grip on his wrist grow loose, instead becoming something not entirely unlike a caress; had his hand been higher on Ford’s they’d be holding hands almost.

“Come on, Ford, ya can say it, you know.” Stan leans forward knocking their heads together like a less dangerous version of two rams butting horns. “You _love_ me, don’t ya, Poindexter?” He continues in a sing song voice. Ford knows it’s meant to be playful, he knows that it’s meant to be a fun jab at how emotionally constipated Ford is…but he can’t help blushing a deep shade of scarlet.

Stan frowns, confused but thoughtful when Ford doesn’t respond flippantly or with sarcasm as he no doubt expected instead. When Ford doesn’t respond at all Stan leans back, causing Ford’s hand to drop from his brother’s face, tilts his head and looks at Ford with a questioning expression written as clearly as a quadratic equation.

“I, well, I-” He tries, his tongue tied in knots but the words he wants to say just won’t come out. He coughs into his fist and averts his eyes as he tries to think of something to say that doesn’t sound like a non-verbal declaration of love or a poor excuse at misdirection.

He, however, doesn’t get a chance to reply or even to feign ease as Stan’s hand moves from his wrist to his shoulder, steadying him as if Stan thinks he needs soothing, as if Stan thinks he’s about to bolt. The expression on Stan’s face is serious, graver than Ford has ever seen on Stan; not even during the times their father has been more than _just_ ‘stern’ with them.

“Ya _do_ love me, right?” Stan asks, equal parts sincere and some other emotion Ford can’t read or even begin to discern. Stan stares at Ford for a long moment that stretches out before them like taffy, like an elastic band stretched just to the point of breaking where one knows, inevitably, that if they were to loosen their grip it would spring back and hit them.

Ford frowns as Stan gets closer, he’s sending so many, _too many_ , mixed signals and it’s hard for Ford to parse or understand them when his social skills begin and end at his relationship with Stan. Besides it’s impossible that he’s reading his brother correctly, not when his entire limbic system seems to think the look in his brother’s eyes is intent of all things.

When Stan’s other hand comes up to rest on Ford’s cheek his eyes widen and his body freezes in place, his legs are jelly and stone and his hands feel clammy with sweat. His tongue feels like lead inside of his mouth as he gulps, trying to soothe his own inexplicably dry throat.

It’s almost as if Stan’s lidded gaze was equivalent to that of Medusa and, with how hard Ford’s heart is pounding, Ford is sure that a moment with her would be vastly less fatal than the look his brother is currently giving him.

“I hope this doesn’t fuck everythin’ up.” Stan says, voice low and gruff as if it’s just a whisper meant for the two of them, as if it was a secret shared between him and Ford, but before Ford gets to ask what exactly Stan means by that he leans forward and presses his mouth against Ford’s.

Ford flounders into the kiss, like a fish out of water or a highly charged particle. Ford’s hands shake at his sides and his legs feel weak as the full realization of what’s going on dawns on him; Stan, his brother, _his twin_ , is kissing him. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s never dared to hope for, but here his brother is crowding against him and caressing his cheek with the back of his hand. Here his brother is giving him all that he never thought he’d have.

Stan’s mouth tastes like toffee peanuts and Lucky Strike cigarettes, the brand that their father also favours. It’s just like he had theorized it would, but even his theories could not have prepared him for the sheer physicality of actually tasting him. When Ford doesn’t return his brother's kiss, out of lack of experience if nothing else, Stan breaks the kiss and gazes upon him with concern, looking guiltier than Ford has ever seen him.

“Shit.” Stan exhales as he stands up only to pace around the room. “Fuck, _fuckin’ dammit,_ I-I, fuck.” He runs an angry hand through his hair and looks at Ford with mortified eyes, his brow dipping in self-disgust. “I fucked up, Sixer, I’m sorry. I thought ya were into me, I thought I’d take the chance and _now,_ well now-”

“No!” Ford interrupts, standing quick enough to cause the bottom bunk to creak as he reaches a hand out to grip Stan’s shoulder to stop him from moving. His voice sounds a tad frantic even to his own ears. “N-no that’s not- you didn’t do anything wrong…I wanted it, I-I wanted you to kiss me, I’ve just…well I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Stan blinks at his words, as if he somehow hadn’t even considered that an option. “Wait so you’ve _never_ -” He gestures wildly between them and Ford shakes his head in response, Stan looks at Ford with confusion at that and his voice is incredulous as he continues. “-not even with of those nerdy kids in your chess club? I always kinda thought…well I’d always thought ya would end up kissing somebody and then you’d be on the shy side and just not tell me about it.”

Ford smiles, the fact Stan thinks he’s desirable enough to have already have kissed someone is astounding. It’s an impossible scenario to be sure considering his classmates distaste towards him but it’s extremely flattering that Stan would think otherwise.

“Ah…no.” Ford replies, feeling more bashful than he ever has in Stan’s presence…inexperience, at least in this matter, he knows is an undesirable trait. He only hopes that won’t colour Stan’s willingness to be with him, to explore this with him as they have explored everything else in their lives. “No one ever thought of me that way and I wasn’t exactly interested myself.”

Stan observes him for a long moment, his body moving closer almost instinctively as he removes Ford’s hand from his shoulder and instead intertwines his own fingers with Ford’s. “…But you’re interested in me, _right_? I gotta know, Sixer, I don’t want ya doin’ this with me if it’s just out of pity or somethin’. I want ya, which you’ve probably figured out by now since I laid one on ya, but I love you too much to make you feel forced to reciprocate or whatever, you know?”

Ford can scarcely believe this is happening, Stan’s declaration and their previous kiss feel like a hallucination, a dream made flesh. He worries that if he looks away from his brother that this moment will simply disappear, that it will fade away into the recesses of his subconscious mind and he’ll wake up longing for a brother he will never have. Not in this fashion at least.

He squeezes Stan’s hand and smiles at him, trying to convey his willingness to Stan, his desire to have this in whatever way his brother will allow. Ford knows he’s not exactly known for his skill with emotions or emotionally delicate situations, but in this moment he finds himself wishing that he was more knowledgeable or adept in this regard. If only so he can tell Stan exactly what this means to him, if only so he can tell Stan the depth and severity of his feelings.

“I feel the same way towards you.” Ford began, feeling a tad anxious even though he knew he shouldn’t. “For much longer than I would like in fact…”

Stan grins at him, his body practically crowding Ford against his and although Ford may be oblivious to many things but the fact Stan is backing him onto the bed is not one of them. “How long? How long ya wanted a piece of this, Sixer? How long have you wanted me, huh?”

Ford places a hand on Stan’s chest, feeling the muscles shift underneath his fingers as he allows himself to be directed, to be _moved_ onto the bottom bunk. “We were thirteen.” Ford replies, his fingers twisting in Stan’s shirt. “You were just discovering girls and your sexuality and I, well…I was discovering _you_.”

Stan’s eyes widen, shock as apparent on his face as the blush staining Ford’s. The two of them must make quite the picture together. “You’ve… _loved_ me for that long?” He asks, voice soft and quiet as if he had never expected anything of the sort.

It baffles Ford how Stan could ever question his worth like that or Ford’s love for him, doesn’t he know how much his love for Stan pervades his every pour, how it permeates his every cell? Doesn’t he know it steals his breath and suffocates him? He can’t imagine Stan not knowing, or understanding, these simple, unquestionable truths.

He can’t let Stan doubt him, not in regards to this, _never_ about this. “Yes.” Ford tells him, voice resolute and sturdy as he plans his next action, as he plans his next form of attack. “And I can prove it to you.” He continues, his hand balling into Stan’s shirt as he yanks his brother down on top of him.

Stan yelps in a manner he would no doubt assure anyone listening was perfectly manly, but Ford has perfectly adequate hearing and he knows a girly squeal when he hears one. Stan doesn’t get to defend himself as Ford places a hand to the back of Stan’s head and pulls him down for another kiss, this time Ford does his best demonstrate every tip or trick he’s ever read or seen on TV.

He tentatively opens his mouth hoping that Stan will take the lead and show him what to do, that Stan will direct him. As expected his brother notices his change in rhythm and moves to counter him, moves to match him just as he’s always done.

Stan shifts on top of him, his knees are bracketing Ford as his left hand comes up to rest on Ford’s shoulder and the right touches Ford cheek, directing and moving deeper into the kiss. Ford can feel his heart beat picking up as Stan’s tongue touches his, as Stan uses a little bit of teeth to tug at Ford bottom lip. Ford can feel his own cheeks flushing even more, his breath is getting deeper as a certain part of his anatomy twitches in time with his brother’s kisses, as his brother proceeds to show him all the physical prowess that he has acquired over the years.

Stan kisses like it’s a full body experience, he kisses Ford like he can’t get enough of him, like kissing him is the only thing he wants to do. Stan kisses like he’s trying to touch Ford everywhere all at once, his left hand wanders across Ford’s body, rubbing at his shoulders, his side and even a teasing rub down the length of his leg. But to Ford’s credit he uses the hand resting against Stan’s chest to tease at Stan’s nipples by surreptitiously snaking his hand up Stan’s shirt.

His brother breaks the kiss to moan, no doubt due to the sensation of Ford rolling his nipple in between his finger and thumb; a suspicion that is later confirmed when Ford feels Stan’s erection pressing down on him.

They share a look between them and instantly, instinctively, they both begin to shed their clothes. Stan reaches above Ford, his hands stretching over them as he pulls his shirt over his head. He winces as he does so and Ford’s hand immediately reaches out to delicately trace the bruise darkening his brother’s pec, it’s not all he wants to do but he manages to resist the urge to kiss at his brother’s chest.

Ford can feel nervousness clinging to him as he begins to disrobe, but he shakes his head to himself; there’s no need to feel anxious or scared, this is Stan after all and there is no one who cares about Ford’s safety and happiness more than him.

With shaking hands he sheds his sweater, his top and he can practically see Stan rolling his eyes at Ford’s undershirt. “Jesus, Sixer, are you _ever_ not dressed in like a million layers?” Stan asks as he stands up from the bottom bunk to take off his jeans.

Ford laughs, anxiety lessened if only by virtue of _Stan_ , leans up on his elbows and finally worms his way out of his undershirt. “Perhaps I’ll start wearing less.” He muses. “If only for easy access.”

Stan smiles a crooked grin at Ford’s words. “Ya sayin’ you’re easy, Sixer?” Stan says to him, voice clear with intent as he slides his thumbs underneath his boxers.

“Hmm.” Ford begins, trying to sound as if Stan’s question is actually one that requires thought and reflection. “Perhaps, for _you_ maybe-” His brain freezes at the exact same time as his brother’s boxers drop to the floor, his train of thought skidding to a halt and becoming white noise as he stares at his brother’s erection.

In that moment he’s overcome with the urge to reach out and stroke him, to feel the heat of him inside of his hand, to feel his pre-cum soak his fingers. He wants to caress Stan, he wants to feel his arousal against him, but above all else he’s happy, _moved,_ that this is because of him; that Stan is aroused _because of Ford_.

Ford opens his mouth to speak but coughs when he realises how dry his throat is. He prepares to speak, to tell Stan how much he wants him, how attractive he is to Ford but Ford goes silent when Stan leans forward to fiddle with Ford’s belt buckle.

What should be an erotic moment beyond all compare doesn’t go as expected when Stan falls on his ass trying to pull down Ford’s too-tight pants. Ford jolts upwards, being mindful of his own erection as he does so. He looks down at his brother who is rubbing at the bruises dotting his skin with a hiss. “Stan, are you okay?!”

Stan looks up at him and they stare for a while before breaking into a series of laughs they immediately have to hush; their parents may be out but they do still have neighbours to be mindful of.  The last thing they need is a noise complaint that raises far too many questions they may not have the right answers to. “The only thing that hurt was my pride, Sixer…and maybe it killed the mood too.”

Ford shakes his head and stretches out a hand to grasp at Stan’s, he pulls him up and closer to the bed. “Don’t be absurd.” He tells him, his tone gentle and his hands clammy as he tries to navigate the emotions housed within his own chest. “I-I, ah, at this point I don’t think anything could kill the mood, at least not for me…I’ve loved you for a, well, a long time and I’ve wanted this for far, _far_ too long.”

Stan looks at him for a moment that feels like a decade, his eyes soft as he climbs back up on the bed. “God, Sixer.” Stan exhales. “I fucking love you, ya know that? But damn, Ford; you’re such a sappy dork.”

Ford chuckles in response and punches Stan in the arm, brotherly affection overriding and somehow merging with the romantic love surging inside his chest. “I think you’ll find I’m not the only sap here.” He replies as he squeezes Stan’s hand, hoping to convey his happiness, his utter joy at Stan’s words and that they’re doing this at all.

He’d never thought he would be so lucky as to have his affections returned, he had never thought he’d have this, have _Stan_ like this. He’s beyond grateful, beyond humbled that Stan wants him at all; especially when he knows that many others have desired, or still do, his brother.

Stan laughs too, his voice rough with arousal and Stan looks at him for a moment that feels like a decade, his eyes soft as he climbs back up on the bed. His hands going for Ford’s pants again, but this time Ford puts his hands over them and Stan’s eyes shoot up to lock with his again.

“No, no.” Ford starts, his hands manoeuvring Stan’s. “Let me help.” He continues as he guides Stan’s hands, directs them. It takes a lot of fumbling and Ford nearly kicking Stan in the head at least twice and Stan almost aggravating his injuries at least three times for them to get Ford’s pants off, but they do manage it. The boxers come off relatively quick after that.

Ford groans and immediately tries to muffle it in the crook of his arm when Stan lays down on top of him, Stan’s body lining up with his as his twin lines up their erections and gives a cursory thrust.

“Fuck.” Stan hisses as he wraps his arms around Ford and rubs their bodies together. “Shit, you’re so fucking hot, Ford.” He pants and Ford can’t resist rubbing his palm against the head of Stan’s cock, if only to hear grunts and moans he knows all too well from the times he had pretended to be asleep whilst Stan masturbated underneath him on the bottom bunk.

When Stan does in fact moan at Ford’s touch Ford also feels him twitch against him, Ford blames simple mammalian empathy for the way he too twitches in response. Ford’s never been this hard in his life, never as aroused as he is now and he knows Stan’s scent, his voice, his touch and his presence have him on edge, have him ready to orgasm at any minute.  His inexperience with matters of the heart or of the body has never been more apparent, or inconvenient, than now and he hopes that Stan doesn’t begrudge him that, he hopes that Stan’s enjoying himself as much as he is.

“Please, Stanley.” He gulps out, a lump forming in his throat as he reaches for his brother and wraps a set of sweat slicked arms around Stan’s shoulders. As he kisses Stan’s neck, his shoulders, any part of Stan he can feasibly reach, emotion clouds his vision tangling up inside of him like a ball of yarn or a love knot.  “Oh, god.” He gasps as his brother finally wraps a hand around the both of them.

Stan chuckles but makes an interesting choke-gasping noise when Ford thrusts into his grip. He looks down at Ford as if his brother is a marvel, a wonder, something rare and not for his extra fingers but for who he is as a person. It’s the kind of look that sets Ford alight, that grips him by the sternum, that holds his testicles in a warm, arousing vice. Everything about his brother arouses him in this moment, every touch and every look has him feeling like lava, like his body is ready to melt at the slightest touch or provocation.

Stan pushes their foreheads together as he jerks them off, his hand twisting at every upstroke. “D-didn’t, _fuck_ , think ya believed in him, Sixer.” Stan remarks, his finger dipping into Ford’s slit which has Ford’s thighs shaking against him. “Or were ya calling out to me, cause I gotta say I’m flattered bro.”

“You’re such an ass.” Ford pants, but doesn’t let the remark slide; instead he lowers an arm from Stan’s shoulders and instead places a hand over Stan’s and grips their length together. His thumb rubs at Stan’s head as he tries his best to compensate for his inexperience with the bigger grip and dexterity that his polydactyly provides him with.

“But I’m _your_ ass.” Stan counters as he kisses Ford open mouthed and messy, their tongues dancing in a rhythm that matches their love making.

Well, frottage technically if one is being specific, but Ford very much doubts that Stan cares about the name for this particular sexual act. Much like Ford he probably only cares that this is happening at all, that his feelings are reciprocated; anything else doesn’t matter, anything else can simply fade into the background.

“O-oh, J- _Jesus_ , fuck, Ford.” Stan groans into Ford’s neck, their dicks twitching at the same time. Ford knows that there is no evidence for a psychic connection between twins, but in this moment he finds himself wanting to believe, he finds himself almost sure that they are somehow connected in such a fashion for Ford can tell Stan too is reaching his end.

The sloppy, animalistic nature of Stan’s kisses demonstrates that well enough, especially when his brother bites and sucks at his neck without even a hint of reservation. It’s one last kiss that does it for Ford, but it isn’t open mouthed and messy, it isn’t even particularly sexual but when Stan kisses at the corner of his mouth, his noes nuzzling into his cheek Ford comes.

His toes curl, his thighs trembling as he rocks his hips hard and fast into both of their firsts, he comes with a shout that sounds more than a little guttural.

“Holy shit.” Stan exclaims as he rolls his hips into their shared grip. Using Ford’s come as lube he uses both their hands to jerk him off, fast, rough and no doubt the way he usually jacks himself off when alone, information of which Ford files away for later use. It doesn’t take too long for Stan to follow Ford, as he’s always done and as he always will; even in this.

Stan ejaculates with a muffled grunt, coming over their hands and all over Ford’s cock. Ford winces at the sticky sensation but doesn’t hesitate to pull his brother into a nude hug. “That was amazing, Sixer.” Stan remarks as he tries to catch his breath.

“Amazing indeed, Stanley.” Ford reiterates, his afterglow settling over him like a warm summer’s breeze as he arranges their bodies so that Ford is resting in Stan’s arms, his brother spooning him from behind.

They stay like that for a while, silent and just cuddling in the aftermath. Eventually however the need for cleanliness outweighs the impracticalities of hugging. Stan detangles himself from Ford first, getting out of bed and moving towards the shower. Ford sighs annoyed at the fact they need to clean up but he doesn’t mind the view of Stan’s ass walking to the door.

“Come on, Sixer.” Stan calls, voice slipping easily into playful and brotherly again even after what they’ve done. “Ya ready for round two?” He continues, his tone now sultry enough to make Ford twitch despite over-sensitivity. Thanks to puberty Ford knows he’ll be ready to go again and _boy_ is Ford ever ready.

Ford gets out of bed quicker and more enthusiastic than he ever has and he takes a moment to wonder if the neighbors can hear just how rapidly he got up from bed. When he follows after Stan one thought pulls at him, one thought calls to him and he can’t help but to smile at it.

_“Wherever we go we go together.”_

He grins softly at the memory for who would’ve have thought that this is where they would end up? And despite the difficulties ahead of them and the secrets he knows they’ll have to keep from their parents, from the world even, he can’t say he regrets it.

Ford follows Stan into the bathroom, a brighter future ahead of him than he had ever thought possible. Much brighter than even the Christmas lights hanging in the Pines’ pawn shop window.


End file.
